You’ll be the saddest part of me A part of me that will never be mine It’s obvious Tonight is gonna be the loneliest
I do a lot of things by myself and it usually doesn’t bother me—I live alone, go grocery shopping alone, go to John Mayer concerts alone LOL.
I flew by myself once on Valentine’s Day, and when I was already seated, the flight attendant was like, ‘Are you flying alone?’ I was like, ‘Uh, yes’ and he was like, ‘Do you mind sitting over here so this couple can sit together?’ I’m like, ‘First of all, yes, I mind, and second of all, it’s a fucking 45-minute flight. I think they can manage sitting apart from each other for an hour.’ JK, I totally moved, but only because I was in a middle seat and I was promised a window seat 😆
Over the weekend, I had dinner with my sister and her husband + the bestie’s family for her daughter’s 21st birthday. There was 9 of us total, so 8 of them got the chef’s special (soup, a shared appetizer and an entree). You can only order the chef’s special in pairs, and I was the odd man out as usual, so I just ordered off the regular menu.
Last night, I had a pair of tickets to finally see Chino at The Observatory North Park, but I couldn’t find anyone who wanted to go with me. Usually I’d rally and go by myself, but it was a Sunday night, and I had to drive back up to LA after. I work from home, so I could’ve stayed in SD, but I like working in my underwear being in my own space.
I remember when Shi’s husband was talking to my sister’s husband at a party, taking in the craziness around him, and he was like, ‘I wished I met Shi sooner. So I could have had all this with her longer.’ When we told Shi what he had said, she was like, ‘He could’ve had all this sooner!’ 🤣 She liked him for years before he asked her out. Years, y’all. He just wasn’t ready yet.
Anyway, my life is not a movie, and I’ve come to terms with the fact that it may not be in the cards for me. I’d rather be alone than be with someone who treats me like shit or someone mediocre who doesn’t light my heart on fire ✌🏼
When I went to the Dodgers/Padres game, I mused aloud, ‘There’s a guy named ‘Mookie’ (Betts) on the Dodgers. That’s a weird name.’ My phone must’ve been listening to me, because this popped up on my feed today. Is ‘Mookie’ a common name in baseball? I googled it and both players had different government names, but chose ‘Mookie’ as a nickname.
One time, we had a computer glitch at work, and everyone’s email reverted to their government names. Mine stayed the same because I use my government name (Marion) at work, but our print producer Nick Nickerson’s name changed on his email. I was like, ‘Wait, Nick isn’t his real name? He chose to be called Nick Nickerson???’ We also had a guy named ‘Robert Roberts’ at my first job when I was fifteen. Did he choose to be called that, too? Did he know I’d be blogging about it 27 years later? 😅 (Yes, I was fifteen 27 years ago. Do the horrifying math).
I just binge watched two seasons of Casual, and I can’t believe this lady is only supposed to be five years older than me.
In her defense, I get carded all the time. Also, some dude coaching youth track at the park during lunch last week asked me if I was in high school! Sir, if you’re trying to get me to join your track team, I’m in my thirties. And more importantly, I don’t run.
We were watching TV at my mom’s house over the holiday, and right after they showed this part, my aunt paused it, turned to me with a concerned look on her face, and was all like, “You know you can talk to me, right???” I meannnn.
I caught up on seven episodes of How to Get Away with Murder with Pammie over the weekend. I’m dying to know what happens next, but I never watch this show by myself because I get too scared. I can’t wait till I’m home for Thanksgiving to find out who shot Annalise, so someone please come over when the new episode airs this Thursday!
Spoiler Alert: There will be frozen salmon from Costco (it’s the only thing I keep stocked in my fridge because holiday weight) and me with no pants on.
I’m doing it partly in preparation for all the BBQ and bad decisions I’ll be making in Austin next week, but mostly because I bet Anthony that I could lose twenty pounds by the time we went to ACL or I’d pay for his BBQ at Franklin. These last five pounds can’t be zumba’d off in a week, so I made a game-time decision to bring my juicer out of retirement yesterday.
I can’t wait to go on vacation! And also eat solid food again.
I usually enjoy being on my back, but this is getting ridic.
I’ve been living off muscle relaxers, pain killers and salon pas for the past three weeks. The cause is still unknown, but I’m pretty sure I went too hard at the Paul McCartney show! Ha.
I’ve been stressed out at work lately, and the doctor thinks I might be carrying the stress in my back. If only he could write me a doctor’s note forbidding me to work overtime. It’s the least he can do, since he won’t prescribe me more vicodin!
The power went out in my apartment building again last week! I was already running late, and I had to go back upstairs in the dark to tell the maintenance guy to manually open the garage gate so I could get to fucking work already. This has happened three times in less than two months! And these are only the incidents that I know of, because I spend less than 50% of my time in this apartment (unless a burglar is reading this, in which case I’m home all the time. Plus I always keep my sharpest pair of fabric scissors within reach. And I’m not afraid to cut you.)
Once I get my new car situation settled, I’m moving out of this overpriced shit hole and torching it on yelp!
The act of trying to forget someone is a futile one. In order to do so, you are forced to remember. It’s like dieting. Like trying your hardest not to think about food, while weighing every ounce and counting every calorie.
I suppose in the end it’s almost too easy to look back and say what you should have done, how you might have changed things. What’s harder—what’s much, much harder—is to accept what you actually did do.
At home, at weekends or whatever, it wells up and I can’t handle it. But most of the time I can just about handle it, you sort of have to get through the day.
I wanted to tell you all my secrets, but you became one of them instead.
There’s a cafe in Los Feliz that has a table with drawers full of secrets inside. I didn’t leave one of my own tonight, partly because neither of us had a pen, but mostly because I was afraid someone I knew would find my note and recognize my impeccable penmanship.
One of my randoms who I haven’t seen or responded to in five years hit me up late last night. Who does that??? Please just forget about me, just like you seem to have forgotten that you have a girlfriend and babies at home.
And lately I’ve been thinking
I’m not feeling anything at all
Will I survive in the dead of night?
And now the lights are fading faster
Save me from my disaster
Every morning, I wake up and forget just for a second that it happened. But once my eyes open, it buries me like a landslide of sharp, sad rocks. Once my eyes open, I’m heavy, like there’s too much gravity on my heart.
She was the third beer. Not the first one, which the throat receives with almost tearful gratitude; nor the second, that confirms and extends the pleasure of the first. But the third, the one you drink because it’s there, because it can’t hurt, and because what difference does it make?
If people want to let you go, just let them do it. They may not understand who you are. So don’t play around with fire; don’t give them their cake and let them eat it, too. Here is your rule of thumb: they either commit to you or get none of you.
Why’s everyone still singing about California?
Haven’t we heard enough about the Golden State?
I guess if you like sandy beaches and blue ocean water
There’s something about it, to which I cannot relate